Hold Fast
by ladygris
Summary: As Margaret leaves Milton, Mrs. Thornton watches her go and considers how Mr. Hale's death and Miss Hale's rejection has affected her son.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own _North & South_ or its characters or concepts. I am simply playing in their sandbox for a while. This is merely a work of fiction, and none of these characters, places, or events depict any real person, place, or event. All similarity is entirely coincidental and not the intent of the author.

 **Author's Note:** For those of you who have followed me for a long time, I apologize for the lengthy absence. RL has taken over. However, just this week, I finally watched this series, and I cannot say I've seen a better period drama personally. After the third viewing this week, I ended up writing this snippet set just as Margaret is leaving Milton. There is a possibility of a continuation. Special thanks to **Ani-maniac494** for the beta. I hope you all enjoy it, and, as always, let me know what you think! ~lg

~oOo~

I suppose I should be ashamed at my treatment of Miss Hale, but I'm not. As I stand and watch her say goodbye to John, all I can feel is relief. I hide it well, painting on a sympathetic face as propriety demands, but I am seething inside.

How could she reject the man standing before her?

John accepts the book she offers, a masterpiece of her father's collection that she has decided to pass on to him, and I nearly close my eyes in agony. He replies that he will treasure it always, and my heart breaks. Can she not see the pain in his eyes? Does she not understand that my John, for all of his stubborn ways, is just what she needs?

Fanny moves to my side, also painting an expression of sympathy on her fine features, but I ignore her. Try as I might, I have never been able to control the girl. Thankfully, she made a good match with Watson, and I have her out from under foot most days. It has been lovely to have my son to myself. He has been so good to me, so honorable and loving.

Which brings me back to Miss Hale. John has left the room now, and Miss Hale and her aunt are saying their farewells. As soon as they leave, I move to the window and look down on the courtyard of the mill. Movement beneath me catches my eye, and I know what has happened. John has rushed outside, hoping for her to look back, to give him a sign that his hopes are not lying shattered at his feet. But there is no sign, no hand lifted in farewell, and no bonnet peeking out of the carriage.

Letting the window curtains fall back into place, I listen to Fanny prattle on about her new home, her wealthy husband, and how dreadful it must be to travel to London during the winter. My daughter is a pretty one, but she has never had the head on her shoulders that my John possesses. Seeing him so in love with a young woman that obviously does not return his affections. . . .It breaks my heart.

Perhaps I should not be surprised that Miss Hale has rejected John. The very same qualities that she dismissed are those that drove him to work, to raise us above poverty and to the station we now enjoy. He works each day in the mill, completely devoted to his work. I often find him still awake in the wee hours, pouring over the books and considering the most advantageous ways to help the mill prosper. And he has done well. But a young woman would look upon that and see a man who is cold, harsh, and inconsiderate of others.

Pushing away those thoughts, I send Fanny back to her husband and wait with my needlework. John will eventually seek me out, as he always has. Until then, I work to keep myself from dwelling upon the young woman who broke his heart.

When Miss Hale first appeared, John never indicated that he might feel for her as he does. I saw it, of course. The way his voice softened whenever he spoke of her, how his attention was instantly arrested when her name was mentioned, and the many times I caught him speaking with her or watching her. . .All of it pointed to a deeper affection than any my son has ever felt. John has spent so many years of his life denying himself that, when he did meet a young woman stubborn and intelligent enough to challenge him, he found his heart trampled upon and thrust carelessly back into his own hands.

Heavy footsteps sound in the foyer of the house, and I look up as John walks into the room. He still holds that book of Plato that Miss Hale gave him, and I wish I could ease this pain for him. Not only does he love Miss Hale as a man loves a woman, but he loved her father. For all those years that I supported his desire to clear our debts and see prosperity return to our family, I was never able to fill the void that his father's death left in his life. Mr. Hale did that for my son, and his passing has been difficult. If for no other reason, I have managed to be polite to Miss Hale.

But how her rejection stings!

"John?" My soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he moves to my side. Settling into the settee next to my chair, he shakes his head. I set aside my needlepoint and reach for him. "I understand," I say softly.

"I know you do," he replies in his deep voice. There is such weariness in that tone, such a sadness that I ache to take from him. Instead, he squeezes my hand and releases it, opening the book that now holds a place of honor in his life. When he speaks again, his voice breaks. "He loved this book."

"And he loved you."

John glances up at me. "Mr. Hale knew me as a student only, Mother."

I smile at him. "Perhaps at first." But I cannot go on without mentioning Miss Hale, and that is a subject I refuse to press upon my son. Instead, I meet his eyes and nod toward the book. "Treasure it, my son. As he would have."

John nods and, with a deep sigh, stands. "I will be late tonight. I have. . .The books need. . . ."

I let him go, my heart as heavy as before. Miss Hale and her rejection broke his heart, but Mr. Hale's death shattered the pieces. And, try as I might, I cannot begin to be a father to my son. I suppose I shall simply have to be a mother and work to help him piece his emotions back together. Perhaps, in time, he will choose to marry a woman like Anne Latimer, though I will miss the fire in his eyes that always appeared when he spoke of Miss Hale.

Not for the first time, I wish things had been different. But life is never as we intend it, and I have always been a survivor. And my son is the same. We will endure. And we will be stronger for it.

Of this, I have no doubt.


End file.
